Sen Beret's Anniversary Meme!
It's actually been a year and two months since I became involved with the fandom, but hey, who's counting?
Masterlist
rules
Masterlist
rules
- comment on this post with your prompts! all prompts are welcome (be as vague or detailed as you'd like!) as long as they fit with the theme of sneezy/sick/allergic Sam, Dean, Castiel, John, etc.
- reply to prompts with your ( Read more... )
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Sam sniffs, and smiles, rubbing uncomfortably at his chest. “No… ugh… that’s okay. I thindk I’bm gondda ndeed to take something.”
“I have medicine!” Becky interjects.
“You do?” they answer at the same time.
At the SAME TIME! Oh my God! Don’t react, don’t react, don’t react…
She breathes, keeps her cool, swings the rucksack from her shoulders and goes across to Sam at his table.
“I have…” she sticks an arm inside to rummage around, “tissues, Dayquil, decongestants, cough syrup…”
Sam just watches as she empties her bag out onto the table, but she could swear she sees his eyes light up. He clears his throat.
“Why - uh - why do you have all this stduff?”
This time, Becky has her answer ready. “My friend was sick when I got here. I bought a bunch of stuff. This was just left.”
Sam’s nostrils twitch, and he sniffs, frowning. His thumb is already absently tracking across the seal of the box of Kleenex. “Ehh…HhHhh… HHhhH’PPpTCHTCHyew! HuhhSHSHshyew! HSHH’SHYEW! HhhHhHH… Hah’TASHHHSHAH!” “Open up the box kid, ( ... )
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Becky can’t help herself, her heart actually soars. It works. It really does work. She squeezes the ring through her glove and moves edges closer to the street corner so she can hear the rest of Sam’s phone conversation.
“God, I don’t know, it just kinda came over muuhh… hhhuh… HhhESSHHUH! ESHHH’SHUH! HUH’HUHHESHHUgHHh! ” He gives a long groan, and his voice is hoarse when he speaks again. “Shit. I think have to get back to a bed, or something ( ... )
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Becky had him settled long before Dean barged his way through the door. He’s tucked into his bed with blankets up to his ears, she’s got him drinking fluids and surrounded by Kleenex boxes and she’s boiling water to make up some soup. It’s only the crappy packet stuff. She’d make it herself if she could, pick her own ingredients and everything, but this is a shitty apartment and all they have is a kettle. Maybe she’ll go out later and get him something better, when he’s well enough for her to leave him. Anyway, it’s better than he would have gotten from Dean, off at the other side of town, interviewing witnesses, like his brother was as good as nothing.
Sam coughs, and mumbles, “I’m fine.”
Yeah. Whatever. No thanks to you Dean.
Mr. On-The-Job-And-Work-To-Do sinks down onto the bed opposite and assesses his brother with a hum of displeasure. “You’re pale. Cold got bad pretty quick, huh?”
“It’s flu,” Becky corrects him, “judging by his temperature.” And what I had in mind when I started ( ... )
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Dean whistles as he fiddles on the seal of one of the milk singles. “Check it out. Still fresh. Guess we’re in a classy joint.”
Sam gives this adorable little stuffy smile before sneezing a bunch more times into the crook of his arm, and Dean sits down on his own bed with a sigh.
“S’awhile since I’ve seen you this sick buddy. Feel like I’m a little out of practice.” He hands him the mug of tea. “Is it weird that I’d know better what to do if you were gushing blood right now?”
They’ve forgotten that she’s there, and Becky has nothing more to do than to kind of shuffle on the spot awkwardly. It’s… it’s kind of awesome. And that’s almost the worst thing of it. To be this close. To see them together, all brotherly in this intimate little moment. It’s the kind of thing she’s dreamt about, hell, the kind of thing she’s written about. It’d be nice to just sit back and soak it all in, to catalogue the whole thing under Happy Memories and pull it out as ( ... )
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Sam is already shuffling off his own bed. Becky wants to say something, wants to hold out her arms and stop him getting up. He’s still so pale and feverish and shaking on his feet.
This is my fault.
“God, Dean!”
Sam has him by the shoulders and the pair of them manage to stumble backwards onto the nearest bed. Becky just kind of hovers around them uselessly, arms stretched out to catch them as if they were about to spring spontaneously from the bed.
Sam lays a giant palm across Dean’s forehead.
“Are you gonna be okay?”
“Yeah, I… uh…” Dean shoves his brother away roughly and presses a hand up to his face. “HhHhHTCHHSHSHUW! ( ... )
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Sam grimaces and rubs uncomfortably at his chest as the fit eases. That’s when he looks across and notices her holding out the packet. She swells when he smiles at her and takes one. It’s barely a smile really, more a lip twitch, but it’s warm, and she feels important.
“Thanks,” he mutters, and clears his throat to rid some of the gravel from his voice. He sighs then and rests back on his hands, Kleenex still crumpled in his fist. “You know, he took off completely one time.” He sniffs, muted this time as it kind of sticks in his sinuses . He’s getting congested again. “He mbust have beend about fifteen, and he had mondno. Cough! I got back ( ... )
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Dean, who is apparently up already and sat at the desk with a phone to his ear, just rolls his eyes and look away. Sam, who seems to be just waking, pokes an unruly head of hair out from under the covers and sniffles. She opts for the path of least resistance (and most handsomely defined cheek bones).
“Okay.” She sets herself on Dean’s mattress and rifles through her bag. “Wanna start with lozenges? I picked you up some more.”
Sam takes hold of the packet eagerly, trying to thumb it open one-handed while the other rubs hurriedly at his nose. After a moment, he gives up, letting the pack drop into his lap as he squints at the ceiling, (broad, broad, sexy) chest hefting up and down as he breathes in and out repeatedly. More than familiar with this routine, Becky pulls a handful of Kleenex from the box and presses them into Sam’s palm.
“HnnGg’TchYEW! ‘TCHyYEW! TC’CHEW! CHUH! Huh’Uhh…HUH’CHUH ( ... )
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Sam slumps, head into his hands and clears his throat.
“He’s a little protective over the car,” Sam explains. It’s not as if she didn’t know that already (I mean, please…) but his tone is so kind and conciliatory that it could be a reassuring hand around her shoulders and she remembers instantly why this is her favourite brother. “but Deand. If idt’s the ondly way to gedt to Bobby ( ... )
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“He’s sick?” Sam sniffs and rubs at his nose.
Dean shrugs. “That’s what he said.”
Sam frowns, and speeds up the rubbing, attacking the tip of his nose in circles as he breathes shallow and fast.
“Sndeeze already kiddo.” Dean tells him, “S’goddna happened evendtually andyway; you’ll ondly mbake it worse.”
Sam does. Loudly and painfully and over and over again.
“You take sombe mbedicinde this mbordning Sambby?” Dean asks when he starts to slow.
“Ahh… ASCHHHhh! HahAHSCHHhh! HahhHASHHSHYEW! I uhhh… We’d… TSCHH’SHYEW! We’d started…”
Dean sits down on his own bed, next to Becky.
“Okay, show mbe,” he says to Sam.
Sensing her cue, Becky pulls her backpack onto her knee. “Okay, so, I’ve given him…”
Dean turns slowly where he’s sat, looking at her with tired eyes. “Why are you still here Becky?”
“I…”
“I hhh-HHHhh UhhESCHH’SHyew! HeSHHH’yew! HuhESCHHH! Ughhhh.” Sam ( ... )
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Becky is shaking as she’s flicking through webpages, her eyes scanning the screen faster than her brain can keep up with. She’s in. She’s on the team. She’s sitting in a crappy motel room, discussing gruesome murders and pouring through Supernatural lore. This is straight out of her actual dreams. She has to nip herself surreptitiously and breathe long and slow through pursed lips to settle her heartbeat enough so that she can be useful.
Sam cranes his neck around the side of the laptop. “What are you loo-huh… Huh-H’TCHHhew! Sniff! … lookindg at ( ... )
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